In the Very End
by completelyensnarryed
Summary: Post-DH. Epilogue compliant. Angst. Hurt-comfort. Humor. Eventual romance. Fixing everything that is wrong with Harry Potter canon, starting with Voldemort, for whom I have nothing but pity ever since I read the Deathly Hallows. Warning: Fic deals with difficult topics. Also contains slash, which, if you do not know what it is, do not read this story. Mature. Time travel. hp/ss.


**1. The Visit**

Upon their graduation from Hogwarts, Harry Potter and Ginevra Weasley were a successfully and happily married couple that now temporarily resided in 12 Grimmauld Place, while searching for a more suitable (and permanent) place of residence. The search was going rather slow, as Ginny was a happily employed member of the Holyhead Harpies (she was Team Captain, and enjoyed every minute of it). Harry, for his part, was employed at the Ministry for Magic as an Auror.

At present, however, husband and wife were in St Mungo's, Fertility Department, discovering their likelihood of becoming blissful and caring parents in the foreseeable future.

The Healer had just told them, very kindly, that this likelihood was, in fact, less than _slim._

Delivering bad news with particular awareness of the other person is not an easy task, and this is why it is especially meaningful when a medical professional is able to accomplish just this very thing, circumstances being less than pleasant.

Harry prepared to face the worst, glancing at Ginny for support. She nodded, still digesting the Healer's previous words.

"So what's wrong with me?" Harry asked bluntly. "Why can't I have children?"

"There is nothing wrong with you, Mr Potter." The Healer spoke so carefully that Harry barely even noticed the delicate emphasis if he were not looking for the information in the Healer's words.

"You can," the wizard told him grimly, and the words sounded like a death knell.

_But then that means…._

Harry heard Ginny's soft gasp of alarm, feeling himself go pale at the Healer's words.

This was not the news either of them were expecting to hear.

"D– do you mean–?" His hand found Ginny's and covered it. He was not certain whether he was comforting himself, or Ginny.

"I am afraid so." The Healer looked like just saying this was causing him a measure of unhappiness.

"How can this be?" Harry asked, his hand still in his wife's lap, holding her hand.

The Healer took his time to respond, finding the right words.

_In truth, there were no right words. No matter how delicately the matter was handled, the fallout is always undeniably awful._

"We have, quite literally, found nothing," the Healer addressed husband and wife, looking shocked at what he was forced to say. "You have no reproductive organs, Mrs Potter."

Ginny's hand flew to cover her mouth in horror. "How can this be?" She whispered.

The Healer looked like he was caught between a rabid werewolf and a murderous Death Eater as he continued further into the explanation. This was not an every day conversation to him, and he doubted that he would have been better prepared for it even if it were.

"I have consulted my colleagues on this," the Healer sighed. "We believe this is the work of a dark curse." He looked like he was fighting not to bite off his own tongue at the words, continuing.

"It appears to have been done when Mrs Potter was around eleven. Some sort of primitive regeneration ritual." He looked sickened just saying the words.

_Eleven years old? That means I would have been twelve,_ Harry thought. _This means I knew Ginny when this happened to her. We met when she was ten._

Then Harry remembered. He gasped.

_Second year. My second year. I was facing Voldemort in the Chamber of Secrets… where Ginny…Oh, God!… She was with…Voldemort! He could have done anything to her, when he was all but corporeal, in those last moments… Is __**that**__ how he–?_

He blamed himself for not getting there sooner, leaving Ginny with such a monster. _This is all my fault._

He must have made some sort of noise, because Ginny turned her eyes on Harry and looked at him in alarm.

"Voldemort," Harry whispered quietly to her by means of explanation.

_In the Chamber. When I was…._ Ginny understood, her own thoughts bordering Harry's as she made her own conclusions.

She shuddered, and Harry instinctively brought an arm around her shoulders.

"I regret having to tell you all of this," the Healer told them sincerely.

"Is there some sort of potion, like Skele Gro, but not for bones?" Harry asked desperately.

"Harry–"

Then the wizard before them said the worst words of Harry's life.

"It was the darkest of magics that did this." He shook his head sadly. "I am sorry, Mr and Mrs Potter."

It seemed to Harry that he had gone suddenly deaf.

"No. It…it _can't_ be…" He whispered.

"I regret having to tell you all of this. You do have the right to know, of course, but in situations like these," he did not say the word _hopeless_, for which Harry was grateful, "It is sometimes better not to know." He looked grave and miserable. There is no right way to deliver bad news, the Healer knew this. Any way it is delivered, it is still horrid.

"You do have options, however."

"Surrogacy is the most intimate option I am able to suggest, in your case. You did say you wished to start your own family." The Healer continued. "If you decide to do this, I would like you to know that it is the safest procedure we offer. You need have no concerns on this regard," he said, sounding as though he wished this was the biggest concern his patients had to face.

Harry and Ginny just nodded, both deep in their own thoughts.

"If this is an option you would like to pursue, then I suggest you both sit down one quiet evening and make a list of all your female friends. Then invite them for the longest, most uncomfortable talk of your life."

Ginny kept her eyes on her lap, intertwining hers and Harry's hands; Harry just nodded again, numbly, weighing just what all of this meant.

"Another option is adoption, of course," the Healer continued. "This one is always available to you, at any time, whatever you may decide."

Again husband and wife nodded, uncertain just what to think at this juncture.

"Please do not decide right away." The Healer told them when Harry looked like he was about to speak.

"Go home. Discuss this just between the two of you." He looked at Harry, and then at Ginny. "What do the two of you want? How do you see your relationship progressing?" He explained. "I would like to hear from you, regardless of what you decide."

He smiled warmly at Ginny and at Harry, giving them his coordinates. His work information was on the wizard card as well as his home Floo network.

Including the best hours to get in touch with him.

"And…" Harry tried again. "The procedure…."

"Yes?"

"What does it involve?"

"A surrogate mother and a potions regimen." The Healer gave the simpler explanation. There would be time enough for further details once they had more time to digest the information and knew with a bit more certainty what it was that they wished to do.

"But we can worry about all of that once you decide what it is you would like to do. Your own wishes in this matter are my highest priority," he told them and Harry realized that he believed the wizard.

The mediwizard reminded Harry of someone he knew. A kindly old wizard who took the time to explain everything to Harry in detail.

_The Headmaster,_ Harry realized. _That's who!_

Albus Dumbledore would have spoken to them just like this, Harry concluded, wistfully thinking that he missed the late Hogwarts Headmaster.

"I promise you that St Mungo's Potions Masters are very highly qualified, but if you have your own preferred Potions Master," he explained, "perhaps one to whom your family had gone to for their healing potions for years, I am sure it will be possible for us to collaborate." He smiled.

Harry felt uplifted seeing this kindly wizard looking determined to help them in any way he could.

Slowly they got up, the Healer walking around his desk to see them out.

"Thank you Healer Bienvenue," Harry told the Healer, shaking the man's hand.

"Thank you," Ginny echoed her husband's words, barely looking up at the kindly wizard Healer, under the influence of the medical calamity that had fallen into her lap.

The mediwizard wordlessly embraced her, offering whatever comfort he could.

Wordlessly, Ginny returned the Healer's embrace. They separated.

"Take care of yourselves," he looked intently at the two of them.

"I would like to hear from you, whatever you decide," he told them seriously, looking from one to the other.

They picked up a handful of floo powder from the top of the hearth and Flooed out with a woosh.

**2. Talking About It**

Harry took the Healer up on his offer, and kept in communication with him. He encouraged Ginny to come with him to all his meetings with Healer Bienvenue, seeing the look in her eyes, but she always refused. Instead, he told her about each and every meeting, summarizing all the more important points, like the potion being ridiculously complicated. Ginny only smiled and suggested they ask Professor Snape to make it for them, if it was so difficult. After all, nothing was impossible for the man who could stopper death.

It was the first time (since hearing the unpleasant news) that he and Ginny found themselves laughing, remembering their Potions Master's first-year speech.

But Harry realized that he really _would_ prefer Snape as the Potions Master. Harry _trusted_ Snape, because however turbulent their relationship was during Harry's time at Hogwarts, at least he knew the man. He couldn't say the same for the St Mungo's Potions Masters.

Healer Bienvenue was very forthcoming with anything Harry asked of him, and agreed with Harry's decision of Potions Master, going so far as to offer to help Harry by speaking to Severus Snape personally. Harry thanked him, but told him that he would like to speak to Professor Snape himself.

If there was one thing Harry wished for, it was that Ginny would feel better about the whole thing. Seeing her clearly miserable and struggling broke Harry's heart.

"You have no idea what it's like, Harry," Ginny told him in confidence, late one evening, when Harry asked her why she does not come with him to see the Healer.

"This…" she sighed. "Having babies. It is something that we should just be able to have, you and I. We are young. There should not _be_ any issues. This should be easily attainable, and just like _this_," and here she snapped her fingers for emphasis. "And now, to find out that I cannot.…" Her chin lowered.

_She can't bear to look at me!_ Harry realized with chagrin.

"If it were possible, I'd have our children, Gin," he told her truthfully, all quiet seriousness and determination, and Ginny saw the main reason she fell in love with Harry Potter in the first place, right in front of her. _He always makes me feel better, first with his words, and then with his actions._She smiled despite herself.

Harry raised Ginny's face with his hands, kissing her. There were tear tracks on his wife's cheeks.

He realized that he truly had no idea what she felt, but he would do his best to be there for her.

She returned his kiss. "Harry, you mean the world to me," she told him, smiling through her tears.

The list of potential surrogate donors was impressively long, and this gave Harry great pleasure because it kept Ginny busy and away from disheartening thoughts.

She even came with him to meet with Healer Bienvenue.

Harry was glad that she was getting involved in planning their future.

**3. Friend In Need**

The day did not start out well for Harry.

Ginny had gone out early, claiming an early practise section with the Harpies, leaving Harry to fend for himself, making a quick batch of oatmeal and putting the kettle on. Then, just as the kettle was whistling and Harry took it off the boil, he heard the Floo woosh, and a moment later, Hermione entered through the Floo.

They had an unspoken agreement, the three of them, that they could come through each other's Floo connections at any time, day or night, for times of importance. Plus it saved time without having to offer invitation every time one of them Flooed over.

Earlier, Harry had told Hermione and Ron everything about what had transpired in St Mungo's. Hermione had been devastated by the news, just like Harry himself had been. Ron was not as verbose, but he did end up scorching Harry's sitting room carpet as furious red sparks shot out from the end of his wand.

"I am worried about Ginny," Hermione told Harry in lieu of greeting.

"So was I," Harry agreed with his friend's assessment. "But she is slowly coming out of it. Asking questions, that sort of thing. The Healer is happy that she is finally getting involved with us."

Hermione grew silent. "That's just it, Harry. Perhaps she shouldn't be."

"What? Why?"

"It's unraveling her," Hermione told him. "I saw her this morning."

"You went to her practise?"

"No, I was in Diagon Alley. I needed–," Hermione flushed. "Never mind. Anyway, I _saw_ her. In the Three Broomsticks."

"So what? Probably stopped in to see Rosmerta," Harry brushed off Hermione's suspicion.

"Harry, _she wasn't drinking butterbeer_ there, if you know what I mean!" Hermione told him, scandalised.

"Are you sure?"

"I saw her," Hermione nodded grimly. "I don't know what she thinks she is doing, but it's not good for her. You need to spend more time with her. Don't let her be alone."

She hugged Harry.

"Come by tonight," she invited. "You haven't been in our flat in ages. Bring Ginny." It wasn't a suggestion.

Harry nodded. "I'll speak to Ginny when she comes home."

When she Flooed out, Harry slowly lowered himself into a chair.

He had truly thought that Ginny was getting better. Slowly, albeit, but still.

What was he supposed to do now?

**4. The Meeting**

Harry visited with Hermione and Ron at their flat, as promised. Ginny was conspicuously missing, refusing the invitation when Harry told her about it by claiming that she was tired from practise and would like to head off to bed early, pecking him on the cheek absent-mindedly and wishing him off to a lovely time in her stead. She told him she was completely fine, and that Harry had no cause to worry on her behalf.

So when Harry Flooed over to Hermione and Ron's flat, she wasn't pleased that Harry had come alone, but what was he supposed to do? He couldn't exactly force Ginny to go with him when she didn't want to go.

Today, however, Harry was facing a completely different task.

Following Healer Bienvenue's instructions, Harry Apparated to Snape's cottage. He had a high time finding out where the Potions Master lived, and, when he told this to the Healer, the man offered to help him.

This was how Harry found himself standing in front of a red-brick cottage surrounded by apple trees, gathering together his nerve in order to talk to the Potions Master.

He hadn't spoken to Snape since the Battle of Hogwarts, and, though Harry had made sure that the interim Ministry (consisting of Kingsley Shacklebolt and the more trustworthy Order members) knew of Snape's true loyalties in helping to bring down Voldemort, he had not actually spoken to the man.

Finally realizing that it was pointless to just stand at the man's front gate (his courage was hardly increasing the longer he stood out in the freezing autumn winds), Harry briskly walked up to the cottage door and knocked.

Snape was just as Harry remembered him when the man opened his door and scowled at Harry.

"Potter. To what do I owe _this_ dubious honour?" the man drawled, mouth curling up into a mocking smile seemingly of its own accord. Though whether he was mocking himself or Harry, the younger wizard could not be certain.

"Hullo, professor." Harry greeted Snape. "I was hoping we could talk." At Snape's look he quickly added an "I won't take up too much of your time."

Frowning, Snape nevertheless stood aside and ushered Harry in.

He did not offer Harry tea. Then again, Harry himself said that he would not stay long.

"I'll get to the point," he promised.

"Please do," Snape replied, amused at Harry's prologue.

Potter played with the hem of his robe, looking utterly pathetic.

Suddenly, this became a conversation Snape wanted to have even less than when Potter showed up.

Or not at all, he realized, judging by the downcast eyes of the Boy-Who-Defeated-Voldemort.

Potter looked too miserable to be the bearer of any sort of positive news.

Snape prepared himself, and a good thing too, because he never expected the words that actually came out of Potter's mouth.

"Ginny is infertile."

Utter tripe. She was a Weasley, for Merlin's sake!

He saw a tear slip down Potter's cheek.

The truth, then.

"Voldemort did something when he possessed her. She was only eleven."

"That shite!" Snape cursed, forgetting to be angry at Potter's use of the Dark Lord's name. Attacking muggles was one thing (who could be quite cruel when they wanted to be), but _children?_ Stringent discipline he _would_ have been an advocate for, but not this… this… infanticide.

There was no other word for it.

He shook his head, hair obscuring his face. _Eleven years old. This was an awful development, even if only the wizarding world's population statistics were to be considered. Though Potter's face had betrayed to him other concerns that, to judge by the boy's face, were quite a bit weightier._

"Professor…I was wondering…" Potter began.

Snape prompted him to finish.

"Would-you-help-me-make–" Potter stuttered, and took out a scroll, which he prompted handed over to Snape.

It was a fertility potion. Nothing complicated. He could make it in his sleep. It was no dragon pox remedy.

Though Potter obviously did not share Snape's opinion, as he could not even pronounce the name of the potion.

He nearly sneered at that, but when he looked at Potter, the boy was looking on him with such an expression of _hope_ in his green eyes, that he faltered.

If what Potter told him was indeed true, and he suspected it was (Potter had no reason to lie to him about such a thing), the situation clearly called for a dram of sensitivity.

"Surely I am not your first choice, Potter. Why come to me with such a request? St Mungo's has no shortage of Potions Masters."

"You are." Potter said quietly, looking at his hands.

"I am what?"

"My first choice." Snape gaped at that, but Potter continued. "I came to you because I trust you." Yet another strange revelation Snape would never have expected to leave Potter's mouth.

The boy man ran a nervous hand through his hair, and Snape frowned, reminded unpleasantly of James Potter.

Potter withdrew his hand, seeing Snape's look.

"This whole thing's a mess," he spoke in the quietest tone Snape had ever heard him use. It was disconcerting. "And worst thing is, it's killing Ginny. It's as if she's had her heart set on a family all along, and now… now it's like she is disappearing right before me."

He stared straight into Snape's eyes, not even caring that Snape was a masterful Legilimens. "The truth is that I need your help. We don't have many options, Snape."

Not _many_ options. A though they have exhausted all other possibilities, and Snape had been their very last choice.

Well, _that_ was the wrong thing to say, however. The _last choice_ grated on Snape. As though he were least important, would quickly agree to such an _honour,_ and worse, should just go ahead and be happy about the whole thing!/i

He scowled. "So let me see if I understand you, Potter. You don't particularly like me. You don't want to do your own work. And you are asking_me_ only because I seem like some sort of _safe_ option for you to get what you want?" It was that last thought that prompted this outburst, the idea that Potter could get what he wanted from Snape because the latter was _just an option_ to Potter.

Potter's eyes widened. "That's not what I–" he tried, but Snape ignored him.

He stood at his full height, towering menacingly over Harry. "Well, you can just take your arrogance right out the way you came, Potter!"

He pointed towards the way Harry originally came, and Harry had no choice in the matter. Harry heard a door slam as he opened the front door, intent on leaving.

A voice stopped him.

"That didn't go well at all, did it?"

It wasn't Snape, who had apparently assumed that Harry knew the way out his front door and had taken the time to disappear down a flight of stairs situated in a partial alcove, which Harry only saw when he turned around, looking for the voice that had spoken.

And saw the portrait of Albus Dumbledore, appraising him curiously.

"No," Harry agreed, glad for a friendly face. "Would you have any suggestions, professor? What is the best way to talk to professor Snape?"

"It's Headmaster Snape, isn't it?" Dumbledore corrected, smiling. "It has been my experience that the way to Severus' regard is through quite a collection of patience."

The late headmaster's blue eyes twinkled kindly at Harry, who felt his mouth widening into a grin almost of its own accord.

"Harry, I was actually going to ask you for a favour."

"Sure, professor." Harry automatically replied. "Anything."

"Take me with you."

Harry gaped. "Isn't this Snape's house? I can't just take one of his paintings!"

"He has another portrait of me in his study. It is hardly interesting for me to be hanging two doors away from my own portrait. I was thinking I would be a lot more useful… in a different home entirely." He looked pleadingly at Harry. "If you are amenable, of course, my boy…"

_The way he said that…._

Dumbledore looked knowingly at Harry, and Harry got the strange sense that he had come over to Snape for just this very thing. Convincing Snape to make the fertility potion suddenly became less important.

_Besides, Snape's right. St Mungo's has plenty of Potions Masters capable of brewing this exact potion,_ Harry concluded, coming to a decision.

He had always wanted to have a portrait of the Headmaster, but did not think it was in his right to have one just because of his wishes. If Dumbledore offered, though, it was a completely different circumstance….

And maybe it was just what Ginny needed – perhaps it would help her, talking to someone who wasn't Harry. And Dumbledore was the better option than even Healer Bienvenue, whom Ginny had been unable to visit, of late….

And so, without a further thought about it, Harry whipped out his wand and unstuck Dumbledore's portrait off of Snape's wall, floating it out of Snape's house and Apparating back to Grimmauld Place with it.

Only when he hung it up in the parlour, did he allow himself to smile. Harry missed the headmaster. A portrait of the Headmaster was better than no Headmaster at all.

Dumbledore smiled back.

"Welcome home, sir."

"Thank you, Harry." He twinkled, then looked like he heard something. "But Severus is right now wondering what happened to me. If you don't mind, I'll just nip on over to my other painting, and tell him where I've gone."

_Dumbledore… __**going**__ somewhere. As though he had legs and could just start and go off, in plain daylight…._

For some reason, it sounded like the most amusing thing Harry had ever heard, and, quite before noticing he was grinning before he even realized what he was doing.

Dumbledore looked at Harry triumphantly, and momentarily disappeared out of his portrait.

**5. First Trouble.**

Ginny welcomed Dumbledore's appearance with as much enthusiasm as Harry; her sincerity was apparent, and it was clear that she was as fond of the older wizard as Harry himself was.

_She seems happy today,_ Harry realized, as he kissed his wife 'Good Morning' and they ate a content breakfast together, after which Ginny pecked Harry on the cheek and flooed off to practise while Harry checked the post, thinking over the Healer's words.

Unlike Ginny, he was not against considering adopting a child together. Down the line, it will no longer be a viable alternative as the war orphans grew up, but at this point in time, there were many children still fighting a war — not a violent one, of course, and not ending in blood shed, but a war nonetheless. It was instead a war of neverending questions. _Will I find my place? Does anyone want me?_ and the more serious one of _What will happen to me?_

He decided that he will spend today visiting orphanages. Just in case.

The Healer had provided a few wizarding ones and Hermione had surreptitiously slipped him an entire stack of pamphlets about muggle orphanages. Harry was thankful for her support.

And, if all went well (and even if it didn't), he would have something to share with Ginny. Communication between spouses at this difficult juncture was important, Healer Bienvenue told him, and Harry was determined to do his part. Besides, he had more faith in the man than in his own healing abilities to mend Ginny's broken heart over what Voldemort had done to her.

Feeling tears spring to his eyes, he wiped at them with his sleeve. _It's all my fault… if only I'd gotten to her sooner… I'd promised Ron I'd look after his little sister. I… I didn't want to fail…_

Dammit. He'd been so good about it too, not letting his thoughts and feelings overwhelm him.

Gathering himself together, he went upstairs to get dressed.

No sense wasting time on emotions and feeling sorry for himself, when he could do something constructive.

He'd start with that muggleborn orphanage in Oxford. Hermione said that they could use all the support they could, and they'd been very good to take care of all the orphaned muggle-born children whose parents were killed by Death Eaters….

The trips were uneventful. He'd only visited the one orphanage, and spent all day there, first observing all the children and then speaking with the Headmistress about a particular child.

"Hello. I am Delyla Winifred Samson," the girl introduced herself. Then smiled, reaching for Harry's hand. "But you may call me Lily."

Lily volunteered to take Harry around and tell him about the orphanage's inhabitants. Harry glanced at the Headmistress, who nodded, and took the child up on her offer.

She was very informative. Harry enjoyed the tour.

But then Harry spent the rest of his time speaking to the Headmistress about this particular child.

As it turned out, her mother had been a witch and had married a muggle. Nasty sort. She left him when she was still pregnant with Lily, Obliviating his memory of ever siring the child so that he would not come looking for her.

Her mother had also been an Auror, and had died on the field of battle. She mentioned no family, and so Lily was placed in the orphanage.

Out of all the children, Lily was the only one for whom Harry got an immediate affinity to. He realized how closely their situations were, because the Auror Corps had recently lost a fellow member while she was on assignment.

It was almost as if fate was trying to tell him something.

_He remembered a fellow auror, grieving at the loss of her parents… She would have no one to leave a child to, also, in case something happened to her…._ He slowly realized.

Could this little girl possibly be…

Harry remembered that _she_ had also lost her parents, as he remembered the sombre face of his colleague as she came in to work _that_particularly trying day…

"May I inquire who Lily's mother was, Headmistress?"

"Lavender Brown."

Harry nodded in understanding and sympathy.

_So he and Lily had, in fact, lost the same person._

Lily lost her mother the same day that Harry lost a colleague. He wished that he and Ginny were a bit closer to Lavender. As it stood, she had obviously thought she'd be a burden, if she asked. This left her daughter in an orphanage, without family to care for her….

But he had assumed that Lavender would have other family to take her daughter in, and so had not seen the necessity in inquiring further. Now he wished he had. Lily had been living at the orphanage all this time, since her mother died….

Ginny would remember Lavender Brown, too. Lavender's death had saddened Ginny as well as Harry when they found out that she had never come back from her assignment.

Lavender's demise at the hands of those insurgents….

He wasn't surprised as much as unpleasantly reminded.

He asked the Headmistress to prepare all the necessary paperwork for Lily's adoption. He would come by with his wife and they would sign all the necessary paperwork.

**6. First Trouble.**

When Harry came back in the evening, it was very late.

The lights were not yet on, which meant that Ginny must still be at Ron's and Hermione's.

Strange. She was never out this late.

He heard the Floo rumble to life, and a moment later saw Ron's head appear in the flames. His eyes were narrowed.

"Why didn't you two come over?" he demanded from the hearth, the flames around him spitting sparks.

_The way he said that unnerved Harry…._ Harry looked at his best friend, eye brows rising in confusion.

"What do you mean 'we?' Isn't Ginny there with you?"

The way Ron's eyes widened at the statement turned Harry's unease into lead, its full weight dropping somewhere into the pit of his stomach.

"She told us she was working late, and that you two'd come by later, but that was hours ago."

"WHAT?" _Then where is she?_

As it turned out, Ginny _hadn't_ shown up at practise.

Further distress came when Harry did a Locator charm and failed to locate Ginny.

That only happened when she was too far away.

And Harry's magic was strong enough to locate anyone in the vicinity of _Scotland…._

This was not good.

"We have to find her," Harry told his two friends, worried.

A quiet voice spoke from behind them.

"Do you still have it, Harry?" Albus Dumbledore asked, holding up his empty hand as though he held a wand.

Harry realized. _**It**__ was stronger than the usual wand…!_

"Yes."

When Harry cast the Locator charm with the Elder Wand, he felt a pulse go through the entire house, as though shaking it to the core in its search.

Dumbledore smiled at Harry's success.

"Now you know where she is."

After Ginny was back – safe, upstairs, and in bed ("I was just out for a walk!" she'd told them), it was a long while before Harry went upstairs to join her.

First he spoke with Ron, and he and Hermione had to convince him against killing his sister for her insensitivity. When he finally (barely) succeeded, Harry saw his best friends out through the floo, and was now alone with his own worrisome thoughts.

Dumbledore proved excellent company.

"How does the charm work, sir?" Harry asked, not because he was particularly curious, but because he needed to give himself anything _else_ to think about besides Ginny's thoughtlessness. "Our wands could not find Ginny, but the Elder Wand did."

"It is an Extended Locator charm," Dumbledore explained. "It finds the person by the last object they touched. Provided, of course, that the object is in relative proximity to the caster, for example, in the same house."

Harry decided to keep on using the Elder Wand, at least until Ginny showed no more inclinations to "go for a walk outside" again and wounding up in Somalia.

**7. Trouble Does Not Come Alone.**

It was a good thing that Harry kept the Elder Wand on hand.

He was also thankful for Dumbledore, who could be counted on in a pinch to find places Ginny Weasley had visited last.

The latter was not only because of Dumbledore's talents, but stemmed from the fact that he had many connections, knew many portraits in places that others would never even think of cultivating communications in.

Harry was very glad that Dumbledore was an excellent linguist.

Ginny never Disapparated to Somalia again, but she now regularly disappeared, sometimes for the entire night, Merlin knows where.

She left messages, of course, saying only _when she will be back,_ not where she is, which worried Harry and Ron, and, by extension, Hermione.

She was not dealing with her situation _at all_, as it turned out, and this worried Harry most of all.

Especially after he found out how Ginny spent her time.

Instead of discussing things with her husband.

Snape came over to a visit. He and Dumbledore have spoken often, and Dumbledore always told him the sides of their conversations that pertained to Harry, so Harry knew that Snape was planning this visit.

The Potions Master had impeccable timing.

In Hogwarts, it had always been to sweep up to Harry and sneer just how many points Harry would lose from Gryffindor for his shoddy work.

This time, he witnessed one of the worst moments of Harry's life.

And started screaming _at_ Harry for being an attention-stealing whelp and _when would he learn that his problems __**did not**__ concern others._

Harry blinked, wondering where this was coming from.

"I don't _care_ about you miserable love life, Potter!" Snape yelled into his face, grabbing him by the fronts of his robes and shaking him. "So stop inflicting your conjugal problems on me! **Because I don't care!**

"I never bothered you with my problems, professor…"

"Dumbledore!" Snape spat, venomously. "I have no idea what you are telling him, but every time he 'visits,' I get to hear an in-depth report on all the trouble that Harry Potter is experiencing with his lovely wife." He extended a hand down his chin, imitating a long beard, and Harry realized that he was pantomiming Dumbledore. "Whether I want to or not!"

"Severus, there's no need to yell at the boy," Dumbledore spoke softly from his frame. "Harry really is going through a lot, and I only thought to share some of the issues that were bothering me with a sympathetic ear," Dumbledore looked at Snape crossly at that, as though disappointed that Snape was not the sympathetic ear he thought him to be. "I am disappointed in you, Severus."

Snape's grit his teeth together so hard that Harry heard squeaking.

"Why don't you **drop dead**, you infuriating old —? **I DON'T ****CARE**** ABOUT POTTER'S PROBLEMS AND I NEVER DID!**

What was Snape's problem, anyway?

"That was out of line, Snape," Harry snapped, voice soft to prevent him from reacting more inappropriately by holding himself back. "I'll not stand for it. Show Professor Dumbledore the respect he deserves, or never set foot in my house again."

Snape turned away from the portrait to Harry so fast it was a miracle he didn't get whiplash.

But he didn't say anything. Just stared at Harry, breathing hard, eyes wide, hair disheveled and teetering…

No. Not teetering. He was…. _Leaning!_

Because the next moment he leant in, towards Harry, and brushed his mouth with his own, softly, barely touching, as though afraid….

"Finally," Dumbledore whispered.

When Harry pulled back, Snape was staring at him, as though unable to believe what he just did.

Harry stared back, gormless.

"I'll make your potion, Potter," Snape whispered, and Harry had never seen the man look as defeated as when he stepped away from Harry, missing a step and stumbling, before righting himself and disappearing out the door.

"What… what was that?" Harry asked the portrait.

"That, Harry, was why Severus couldn't stand to listen to me rambling on about you," Dumbledore told Harry honestly.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione found Ginny in the seediest bar they could never have imagined, drinking her weight in firewhisky.

Harry had to remember that he was grateful that Dumbledore was able to gain her location out of the horrible magical caricature hanging on one of its walls.

_Ginny… in a place like this…_

It was probably the farthest she could get away from him, without being on another continent.

And it hurt, because she would rather be away from him than with him, dealing with their problem, together…

When they took her home, Ginny was so sloshed she didn't even put up her customary fight, not even to complain that she _was not doing anything wrong._

**8. Bitterness.**

In an attempt to gather his thoughts into some form of coherence after the entire mess of an evening spent running after Ginny, Harry focused on Snape.

Or rather, he focused on doing something _right_ for a change, something that he actually _could_ improve.

He asked Dumbledore to heed Snape's words and not discuss things with the Potions Master cum Headmaster that Snape obviously did not wish to. As soon as Harry asked this of Dumbledore, he felt awful, because Dumbledore was not the only one who liked the austere wizard's company. Harry had, in actuality, been hoping that he and Snape would become friends, of a sort, even if they did not have much in common. It hurt, inexplicably, not to be able to see through to Snape's camaraderie, but, if Harry's presence was so abhorrent to Snape, he would respect the man's wishes.

Dumbledore listened quietly, deep in thought. Only his blue eyes divulged the fact that he was following Harry's thread of conversation very closely.

It took all of Harry strength not to go back on his words, much as he wanted to. He _did_ want Snape's input, after all, even if he realized that he did only after Snape flatly refused to give it.

As though reading his mind, Dumbledore said softly, "perhaps he will come around, Harry."

Harry hoped so.

Ginny was a completely different person in the morning.

For one thing, she slept right through, instead of jumping out of bed at dawn and making up an excuse to go out of the house immediately, foregoing breakfast and any chance of meeting eyes with her husband.

Not today.

Today, surprisingly, they ate their first meal of the day together, and Ginny smiled at Harry for the first time since Harry could remember in a long time.

That smile made Harry sad for some reason, he did not like the empty hopelessness inside Ginny's pretty brown eyes. She was too beautiful for any of it. It wasn't fair.

_I did this to her._ He blamed himself. He knew Ron probably blamed Harry as well, though he didn't say anything to Harry. _Yet._

If only…. He found himself wishing that Ginny was at home that year, wishing that Lucius Malfoy had never given her that diary, that there was no Tom Riddle waiting in ambush for her to spill out all of her thoughts into the little black book, using Ginny's feelings like that….

_Using._ It was an unendurable, neverending thought.

He took Ginny in his arms, resting his chin atop her head. Their fingers interlaced.

They sat like that, each lost in their own thoughts.

Ginny snorted, and it was more resigned than anything else.

"I always thought I was just lucky. "_Clever,_" she told him, musing, an odd tint to her voice. "Back in Hogwarts, when other girls were panicking, fearful as to whether they knew the right pregnancy warding charms or not, I wasn't worried. Because they had always worked for me, as I thought back then, did them _perfectly_, because their worries and concerns never seemed to reach me. I was _safe_ because I was acting responsibly. But Now…" she trailed off, before adding, "now it turns out that there's a reason there was never any cause _to_ worry, and it had nothing to do with how _talented_ I was with my spellcasting…"

_Harry really hated that there was nothing he could do to help her._

"Gin, I was thinking of taking the Healer up on that surrogacy offer," he told her carefully.

"It's a good idea, Harry," she responded, a first for the two of them regarding the subject matter. "Luna spoke to me days ago. She offered, but I thought she was just being a good friend…."

_I pretended I didn't hear her. I didn't want to hear anything about the subject, it was about when the Healer first told us…._ Ginny did not give voice to these thoughts.

"Really?" Harry asked. "I thought she genuinely wanted to help. She is the only one who inquired after how we were doing. Only Hermione and Ron were more regular, but Hermione never offered to…"

Ginny smiled. "Ron's influence."

Harry laughed, then tilted them backwards until he could see her pretty face.

"You really want to?" he asked her. "I wasn't going to take this any further, unless you told me you wanted to."

She kissed him.

"Of course I do, Harry," she told him seriously.

_Hermione always said you wanted a family._

I was selfish. I wanted to be the one to give it to you….

"We're having a child," Harry said against the back of Ginny's head, making her shiver… "Together."

With all her heart, Ginny wanted to believe in Harry's words.

**9. Severus Snape.**

Harry greeted Snape when the latter opened the door, looking inquiringly at Harry. His attention was drawn to Snape's mouth almost against his will, and he wondered why it was that the man left so abruptly the other night, right after kissing Harry….

Truth was, Harry missed Snape. And he didn't want the older man to be upset with him.

"Potter." The older man greeted.

"Harry." He corrected. "I am hoping we can be friends."

He looked at Snape, asking the question with his eyes.

"Suit yourself. _Harry._"

He led Harry into his sitting room.

When Snape came back into the sitting room, he was holding the potions phial, an uncertain look upon his face. Wary. Harry was about to reach for it, but Snape did not give it to him.

"I'll help you, Harry," he said evenly.

Harry looked confused. "Yes. By giving me the potion…." He held out his hand.

"No." Snape shook his head and Harry's hand dropped to his side, unfulfilled. "By being your surrogate."

Harry didn't understand. "You– you can't!" _You're a–!_ "You're not a…" _A woman._

But he suddenly found himself staring at Snape's bare chest.

It wasn't bare.

And Harry never even suspected that Snape was… How is that possible? Surely there would have been hints, regarding Snape's gender.

"I assure you I can, Potter. Or no deal." He clenched his hand around the potion, hiding it from view in his fist. A warning.

Snape dropped his outer robe and shirt into an arm chair then turned to face Harry.

But tits didn't lie. _And they were staring him the face_, Harry wondered, a sick feeling of vertigo threatening to overwhelm him./i

What else didn't he know about Snape?

"A sex-change potion," Snape offered by way of explanation. "And this," he held up the small bottle in his hand, "is a fertility potion to guarantee conception." He stared inscrutably at Harry, as though wanting to tell him something else, and yet remaining silent.

Harry stared at Snape.

Snape misunderstood Harry's uncertainty.

"Do you want to have a child or not?" he snarled. "I thought you were desperate to have a brat _at any cost!_ To help your poor wife." Snape mocked.

Harry found his voice. "Yes– I mean, we are… desperate, that is."

It sounded horrible to say it out loud like that, but Snape seemed to draw conviction from Harry's words.

"Then let's get to it before I change my mind!" he threatened.

He looked at Snape, judging. Then he realized that he didn't really care who the surrogate was, as long as Ginny was happy. Snape did want to do this, after all. And if Snape was so certain in this option, perhaps Harry should listen. Between the two of them, Snape _was_ the one who knew Potions better than Harry ever would….

"Now?" Harry asked.

Snape just stared at him.

"What did you come here for, if you are asking for a reprieve?"

"No, it's just that…" He had only come for the potion, not for Snape to drag him to bed.

"Yes or no, Potter." Snape eyed him. "Decide."

_It's a bit too soon._ But Harry found himself nodding. Perhaps the sooner there was a solution, the sooner Ginny would be better and happier and they would be able to move on from this whole mess.

"Yes," he nodded, coming to a decision.

"Good," Snape lifted the potions phial to his lips and swallowed it in a sure movement, a movement that filled Harry with a sense of finality.

There's no going back now. We are really going to do this.

"Where's your bedroom?" Harry found himself asking.

Snape shut his mouth on what he was about to say and lead the way to his rooms.

The door fell closed silently behind Harry, leaving him looking at Snape in the semidarkness of Snape's bedroom.

"Get on the bed," Snape barked imperatively.

Harry just came closer to him, then reached over and placed his hand on Snape's upper arm.

Snape flinched, but the next words out of his mouth were not callous.

"Potter…"

"We do this as it is meant to be done." Harry told him evenly, gazing into the man's eyes. "I mean it, Snape. Ginny means the world to me, and I'll not have this ruined simply because you despise me."

_Potter could not be further from the truth._ But Snape did not correct him.

Instead he leaned in, as though obeying Potter's words, and kissed the Boy-Who-Lived.

And let out an involuntary moan when their lips touched, though he tried to pass it off as being put-upon, before pulling Potter closer and tangling their tongues. This time it was Potter who moaned (his a moan of surprise) and deepened the kiss, and it was music to Snape's ears.

_Potter was…intoxicating._ Snape almost wished this weren't the only time they would do this, but knew that Potter was honourable and loved his wife almost to a fault.

He was going to enjoy this. It was doubtful that Potter would let him have a repeat of this, even if he had somehow fallen in love with Snape.

Ludicrous.

It was for the best, anyway. Potter should never know… it wouldn't be…

Right.

_I hope Miss Weasley can make you happy, Potter._

But the thought was so unendurable that Snape growled and bit Potter possessively, branding his neck, hands burrowing in the boy's robes and ripping them. Buttons flew in all directions but he did not care as he looked upon Potter's bare chest. His own he Banished with a thought, not wanting Potter to take his sweet time, dawdling. Or worse – being thwarted by the sight of the older wizard's body. The Potions Master had no illusions regarding his own appeal. No sense waiting for Potter to rip Snape's clothes off – it would never happen. And anyway, he'd take what he could get.

Snape was already aroused, had been since the moment Potter agreed to this, as he gripped Potter's erection. The boy pushed into his hand. Ah, good. Primitive reflexes to fuck would play to his advantage. He held Potter's cock in his hand, a loose grip, just feeling the weight of it. The-Boy-Who-Lived… He would always be a _boy_, to Snape and the entire Wizarding World, because of that blasted nickname, no matter how old he became.

….No matter how unboyish his cock was. Snape closed his hand around it, enjoying the feel of it against his palm. A man's bits.

Potter was half-hard. Snape swallowed a victorious smirk and gripped the cock a bit firmer, running his palm along the length, coaxing Potter's cock to a firmer erection.

Potter _would_ be his. Even if the circumstances of this whole thing left something to be desired.

"Snape?" Potter gasped. "Wha–"

"Quiet!" Snape commanded, and pulled Potter onto his bed, on top of him, relishing in the feel of Potter's body on his as he was rubbing Potter's groin and making him gasp and push into Snape more.

Green eyes met black ones as Potter descended over Snape, his lips brushing over the erstwhile Potion's master's. _Potter kissed me! Why did Potter kiss me? He is in love with Weasley, for Merlin's sake!_ But he couldn't hold back the pleased whimper that went through him, nor himself as he deepened their kiss, coaxing Potter's mouth open and sliding his tongue into the wet heat of Potter's mouth.

He ran his leg along the back of Potter's hairy calf, before pulling his legs up and securing them behind Potter's hips.

Their groins touched and they both moaned at the contact. Snape allowed himself to pretend that it was all for him, and felt himself get wetter just in expectation of Potter penetrating him. The boy would never know what all this means to Snape, so there's no reason not to indulge in a little play-acting for his own benefit, touching Potter to satisfy his own curiosities, as well as arousing the Gryffindor further. He told himself that it was all for the sake of conception, but knew that even if he managed to fool Potter, he could never fool himself.

Potter… foolish boy. Foolish, irresistible Gryffindor, who drove Snape to the depths of both fury and despair, and would now be driving Snape to the heights of ecstasy.

And still would never be his….

"Snape–Wait!" Potter gasped out, alarmed, pulling desperately at his prick to stop himself from coming under the onslaught of Snape's hand. "I have to get inside you…" he squeezed his eyes shut, stilling Snape's hips with his own weight (Snape was thrusting against him). "Can I–?" he gasped. "If I don't get inside now, I'll…" he looked desperate. "But I—I don't want to hurt you…"

He reached out a hand and caught Snape's cheek. _He would almost convince me he cared…._ the dour wizard thought.

Ridiculous. But admirable.

_And if they waited any longer…_ he glared at Potter, hating the reason that they were together, but not the intimacy itself.

Instead of answer, Snape canted his pelvis forward, wanting Potter inside him even if he would be depositing something else inside of him as well.

A nine-month _something_, to be precise.

Snape grabbed Potter's cock roughly and aimed it at his hole, pushing forward.

Potter whined, instinctively bearing down upon Snape, and Snape relaxed his grip slightly, rubbing his entrance with the head of Potter's cock.

_Merlin!_

How did he know it would feel so good? Before, when he only dreamed of Potter doing this to him, fucking Snape deep and hard….!

Snape felt his hole spasm, clenching in expectation of Potter's intrusion. Delicious.

"Snape, are you s-sure?" Potter gasped. "Don't want to… hurt you." He held himself back from just plunging into Snape.

Considerate of him.

He would appreciate it more, but Potter's balls were drawing in even as he said it, and he was panting impossibly, as though holding himself back… The older man had not realised just how transient sex was when viewed from outside the male perspective. _If he comes now, I'll get no enjoyment out of our fucking,_ came the unbidden thought to the forefront of his mind. No wonder women were always so cross where sexual longevity was concerned.

Snape grabbed Potter's balls, squeezing them almost painfully in an attempt to ward off the inevitable a little while longer (Potter made a noise, but did not move away from Snape), his legs pulling Potter closer, wrapped around Potter's hips, encouraging him inside as Potter's cock popped past the ring of muscle and entered Snape.

Potter pulled away and did it again, and Snape's eyes rolled up in his head as he came, at the exquisite feeling of having Potter inside of him, shuddering in pleasure as Potter continued to thrust inside him, in and out, in and out, green eyes blazing as his own pleasure neared.

He made a few more thrusts before Snape felt him still and felt hot fluid fill him from the inside. And came a second time, raking potions-stained fingertips down Potter's back as Potter splayed out on top of him, cock still inside of him.

Snape came down slowly, every cell in his body aware of every minuscule detail of Potter's, legs lowering to lie on either side of Potter, who ended up between them, as such. He clenched around Potter instinctively, shivering at the feel of the male organ still embedded inside of him. Potter was so close Snape could kiss him if he wished, but instead he just closed his eyes in pleasure, giving himself over to the feel of Potter's cock still inside of him, feeling the boy nestled perfectly between Snape's legs, as close as he had always wanted him to be and yet never daring to believe it would ever have happened.

Potter… Harry… Tears filled his eyes in sheer happiness of it, and closed his eyes against them so he could compose himself.

Perfect. This moment is perfect. No need for tears yet, not with the boy so close to him… His arms went around Potter's shoulders and held him close.

And speaking of Potter….

The younger man was staring into Snape's face, his black hair standing out in all directions, green eyes shining as they stared into Snape's black ones.

"Snape… that was… what was?" he tried again. "Where did that–?" _–come from?_

"Don't think so much, Potter," he brushed off the younger wizard's inquiry. "You'll only hurt yourself, having had so little practise." But his words were bitter, not spiteful. "You wanted this _done right,_ as I recall."

Potter reached up and gently swiped a finger across Snape's lower cheek. Their eyes met, Harry's looking quizzically into Snape's.

"You're crying." Snape glared at that. "Why're you crying? Is that right?"

And that was how Snape knew that their briefest intimacy was over. He pushed Potter off his chest in lieu of answering.

_You'll never believe the truth anyway, and there's no telling how you'd react, even if you did. No. Better that you not know. I couldn't live with myself if you did, and–…_

Snape wouldn't think of it.

He didn't say anything when Potter got out of bed, and, getting directions (and a raised eyebrow from Snape), brought a rag from the loo and cleaned them both.

"Is Weasley expecting you?" Snape asked gruffly.

Potter shook his head.

"No. I asked her to stay over with Ron and Hermione. She shouldn't be alone."

Snape pretended he didn't hear the sickening concern in Potter's voice.

"Good." He pulled Potter under the covers so that he laid half on top of Snape. "You're staying the night. Conception is more successful with prolonged partner contact." With that, he moulded his body to Potter's, enjoying the warmth.

It was all nonsense, of course. Conception did not depend on post-coital partner contact. Just on successfully completed fucking.

But Potter didn't know shite about potions nor how they worked, and Snape knew enough to use it to his advantage.

"Try to go to sleep, Potter," he told him, irritably, when the younger wizard moved restlessly about before settling down. _Think wonderful thoughts. You, Weasley, and a ridiculous, green-eyed, red-haired Gryffindor, probably named James, of all things._

It was utterly sickening.

Inexplicably, Snape felt tears slip down his cheeks and was grateful to Potter for extinguishing the light before climbing back into bed after his loo trip.

He cried silently, burying his face in the side of Potter's pillow, effectively hiding any sound he would have inadvertently made, lest Potter find out anything he was bound to misinterpret and despise Snape over.

Late at night, he felt Potter wrap his arms around him, soft and pliant and delicious with man sleep and snuffling into Snape's hair. _And no doubt thinking of Weasley_, he thought miserably. It just wasn't fair. He silenced his sob.

I love you, you stupid boy.

But I'll kill you myself rather than be second to Weasley. Thus the reason Potter will never learn a thing about this.

Potter moved in his sleep.

"Love you," Potter mumbled into his pillow, arms tightening a fraction around Snape.

He thought how convenient it was that Potter and Weasley apparently exchanged such sentiments often enough to make them automatic. He clutched at Potter tighter, stilling the tremour that went through him as he prevented another sob from escaping.

"Love you too," Snape grumbled softly, holding onto Potter. There was no harm in it, because Potter was asleep and would never remembering ever having this conversation with his greasy ex-Potions professor.

Together, they slept.

In the morning, Potter kept trying to talk to Snape and Snape would have none of it, preferring to _Crucio_ himself rather than listen to Potter bumble through yet another explanation involving Weasley.

That's what it probably was about, anyway.

He knew that he was pretty much fucked.

Truth was, Snape couldn't love Potter any more than he already did. The ridiculous infatuation that started the day Potter began showing the first signs of turning into an adult, branching out into respect for the man that Potter became with every passing day.

The infatuation had only solidified since that first realisation, turning into despair when the boy failed to come to Hogwarts during his seventh year and leaving Snape with no outlet for his (clandestine, but still) affections.

Potter was brave, loyal, and, above all, honourable (the latter explained Snape's exhilaration with Potter, but also his predicament with the younger man).

Potter was protective, the perfect Gryffindor.

And he was also Weasley's.

So Snape did the only thing he could, under the circumstances, and kicked Potter out (_after_ breakfast!), looking for all the world to be concerned for Weasley as much as Potter was.

"I'll let you know as soon as I myself know," he promised, hand on his stomach signifying what he was talking about.

Potter nodded, and for a moment looked uncertain, as though he wanted to tell Snape something, but was not sure how to bring it up.

Snape helped him by slamming the door in his face, taking away Potter's choice in the matter.

He _didn't_ want to know.

The tears that had welled up in his eyes at the unfairness of it all only served to reinforce his decision.

* * *

><p><strong>Part Two<strong>

Snape didn't see Potter at all in the coming week, though he sent him his Patronus to let him know that he would be coming tonight, and that they needed to talk.

He was unprepared for the sight that greeted him.

At first, he wondered how the Floo put him through to Potter, when it was quite obvious that nobody was home. No lights were on at all, except for the flare of the fire place as he stepped through.

He spelled the flames higher, creating more light in Potter's sitting room, thinking he would need to go out and find where Potter was.

Only to find Potter sitting in the dark, eyes inside the hearth.

"Hullo, Severus," he greeted, dully, at last greeting Snape with eye contact. "You wanted to talk?" He sounded weary, as though talking was the farthest from his mind, getting up and heading out of the sitting room.

Snape heard the sounds of the kettle clanking before Harry came back with a tray and set it on a small table in front of him. He gestured to Snape to take a seat and placed one of the tea cups in front of him, before sinking back, his own cup untouched.

He didn't even inquire whether Snape would fancy a cup of tea, his movements mechanical, almost automatic, _uncaring,_ looking more like he couldn't be bothered to think at this moment, not about himself, not even about another human being.

_Nor about anything at all._

Snape supposed he should be lucky that Potter thought to observe proprieties at all, as he eyed the cup before him before taking a swallow (for propriety's sake).

It was unnerving.

"Potter. Did something happen?"

"Ginny died," the younger wizard said with a lot less pathos than he should have.

He trailed off, muttering something about _the last thing she touched…_

"POTTER!" he raised his voice, drawing Harry's attention. Harry looked up at him, surprised at the outburst from Snape.

"Don't give me this rubbish," he leaned into Harry's space. Harry didn't draw away, and the lack of action frightened Snape more than anything. "Nothing is an excuse to go about like you are doing. **Nothing.**"

Potter just stared at him, as though seeing him for the first time.

"Now tell me what's got you acting like this." Harry looked like he was going to say _my wife died,_ but Snape pre-empted him. "I understood that part, already."

But Potter merely sat across from him, silent. The flames have gone down to darkness, so it took a while for Snape to notice that he was holding something in his hands. He spelled the flames brighter.

It was a framed photograph.

"I don't understand it," the boy whispered brokenly, "I had thought she was getting better. She seemed… happier." He didn't raise his eyes from the frame, even though it was too dark to see what it contained. "And then…" He trailed off.

Snape was about to ask, thinking Potter wouldn't answer, when he heard bitter laughter coming from across the table.

"I thought it was going to be alright. The worst should have been behind us." A motion to indicate that Potter was clenching the photo frame in his hands. "She agreed to the surrogacy, we were going to have a child."

He looked at Snape, as though remembering. "Are we having a child?" Potter laughed, and Snape noticed that his eyes were red-rimmed. "We didn't even know for certain, so why did she–?"

He waved away Potter's question, the _not now_ unvoiced but understood, needing to hear what the younger wizard had to say, instead.

"She _agreed_, Snape. For months we've either been in a row about it, because she would not answer, or she would ignore me every time I asked. But this time, she looked genuinely happy with the prospect of us having one. Only…"

"Only what?" Snape asked.

"Yesterday she disappeared again." At Snape's movement, he continued. "I did the Location charm, and found her." Something in his voice made Snape think that he would rather not have. "She was at the Burrow. In the garden. She was clutching our wedding photo." He signaled at the picture in his own lap and made a pained sound, half-groan and half sob that Snape decided he _never_ wanted to hear him make again. "And she…" Those green eyes filled with tears.

This was the worst of it, certainly. Snape braced himself. "What did she do?" he found himself asking.

"She ate enough aconite to kill a werewolf." Harry laughed; an ugly, resigned, empty sound. "I did not have a good night, Snape."

_Watching someone die tended to have that effect,_ he thought grimly. He hated Weasley for putting Potter through it, knowing as she must have how Potter felt about her. Potter was too transparent for he not to have known.

"I am sorry for what you went through, Potter," he said slowly.

Potter just looked at him.

"I was meant to save her. When I came searching for her, I wanted to do just that… but I was too late… again." He buried his face in his hands and his shoulders shook, the photograph lying face upwards in his lap.

_From it, Potter and Weasley looked out inquiringly at the two of them._

If seeing Weasley die was the worst moment of Potter's life, then seeing Potter cry was right down there in Snape's, as he found himself reaching a hand towards Potter, and pulling him into an embrace. _For no reason other than to stifle his infernal tears._ Potter wasn't meant to cry._Ever._ He was the one that saddled his lionesque ego and went out to solve all problems in his path, and _did_, succeeding on stubbornness alone.

Instead of crying into Snape's shirt-front.

It was annoyingly heartbreaking to see Potter so distraught over something he thought he could not fix. His heart went out to him. True, death was one thing that wizards, like muggles, _could not_ fix. But that didn't mean that Potter couldn't run out and do something stupid and foolish to try and solve it. _He convinced me to be his surrogate, for Merlin's sake!_ A grim smile appeared on his lips at the reminder of news he had yet to impart to Potter. Now did not seem like a good time. The younger wizard was too distraught.

He also wondered why Potter told him he couldn't save Weasley _again._

"You seem to think you failed in some responsibility you had to her, Potter…" he said quietly, directly over Harry's ear, tilting his chin up with his finger. They now saw eye-to-eye, so close that he could see unshed tears, suspended on Potter's lashes. One of Potter's tears disappeared into Snape's sleeve, trailing his fore-arm as it slid to his elbow underneath his cuff-link. "Tell me what this duty was," he prompted.

"You won't like it," Potter laughed hollowly.

"Nevertheless," he tried on his most austere expression.

It never worked on Potter, but Potter relented. Made a valiant effort to collect himself by wiping at his moist eyes, and asked.

"I didn't get to her in time," Potter whispered, and his voice cracked. "Again. The first time," his voice choked, tears welling in his eyes. "I promised Ron I'd look out for his sister when I… this is the second time I did not get to her on time."

Snape found that his chest was once again reacquainted with Potter's face. His arms went around Potter, and his heart went out to him, breaking against the realization that attacked him mercilessly. And then Potter said something that broke Snape's heart.

"I'll regret it for the rest of my life," he whispered, but Snape heard every word as though through a sound-augmenting charm in the meaning.

Weasley meant the world to Potter. And now she was dead and Potter was grieving and any hope Snape held out for himself and Potter, however small in likelihood now seemed to vanish as though someone cast a merciless _Evanesco_.

_You really care for her, don't you, Potter?_

And on the heels of this, came the more painful realization.

_There's no room in your life for anyone else._

Though why there should be room there for Snape, of all people, he didn't know.

He wept more silently than Potter, tears coursing down his cheeks. He breathed evenly, however, unlike Potter, making sure no sob emerged to possibly alert Potter to the proceedings.

He stared straight ahead, eyes glassy, only when it was too late did he realize that someone was looking back at him, out of kind, untwinkling blue eyes.

Albus Dumbledore was just as distraught about this as Potter was.

Only in the privacy of his home, gazing at his darkening Floo, did he finally feel a need to say what he felt no inclination to say in Potter's presence.

Why he had come over to speak to Potter in the first place.

He laughed ironically into the silence of Spinner's End, his head lowering at the unexpected end that things had taken.

"Congratulations, Potter," he whispered wryly into the darkness of Spinner's End.

"I am pregnant."

Only to be met with deafening silence.

**11. The Funeral.**

The funeral was a miserable affair.

He hadn't even planned on going, but Albus nagged him incessantly, and in the end, Snape decided there would be little harm in attending.

Though once there, in Potter's home, he spent the entire evening conversing with Dumbledore.

That was, as it turned out, a mistake because Potter soon joined them.

And, unlike the quiet evening they spent together, this Potter was impulsive and belligerent (it occurred to him that Potter got himself drunk) and kept thinking up grandiose schemes, no doubt confusing himself and Albus for his Gryffindor friends.

Snape, unlike Albus, resented the comparison.

Not to mention that Potter was a lousy drunk.

"This is ridiculous! Albus, tell Potter that his plan is rubbish!"

Dumbledore twinkled. "Harry, I do believe Severus does not believe your idea has merit."

_Damn Albus for sugar-coating everything!_

"Because unless you fancy being married to an Inferius, Potter, there's no sense in using dark magic to bring your wife back from the dead!"

"Do you have any better ideas?" Potter stared questioningly at Snape.

"No!"

"Then maybe you ought to come up with something," Potter suggested drunkenly.

"I meant, 'No, there are no better ideas for bringing a person back from the dead, Potter!'" he snapped.

Albus was mocking him behind his glasses, of that he was fairly certain….

"Oh." Potter grew quiet.

"There might be a way, my boy…."

"Oh?"

Harry leaned closer to Dumbledore's mouth. It was the most ridiculous thing Snape had ever seen.

Until Albus Dumbledore smiled and dangled the sparkling golden string around his neck (now why hadn't he ever noticed that it was there?), all twinkling blue eyes and the promise of a grand adventure on the tip of his tongue.

"A Time-Turner, Harry."

"But they all broke in my fifth year at Hogwarts."

"Tell me, Harry. How did you fix your broken wand?"

"The Elder Wand…." He trailed off, staring at Dumbledore, putting two and two together.

Dumbledore looked triumphant. "The Elder Wand can fix many broken things…."

Harry's eyes widened. "Do you mean–_Time-Turners,_ as well?"

Dumbledore twinkled.

"And just where would Potter get a Time-Turner at this juncture?" Snape intervened.

Dumbledore and Harry just looked at him. Harry, with dawning realization that, Snape was pleased to see, bordered on agreement. Dumbledore, on the other hand….

"Severus, I don't suppose you've figured out how to open that bottom desk drawer in my old office?" He looked knowingly at Snape, who shook his head, scowling. He'd assumed it was just a broken-down desk drawer when he became Headmaster.

At this, the interfering Headmaster smiled.

"We'll go tomorrow." He caught Snape's eye and twinkled. "You are coming too, Severus." He told the current Headmaster mock-sternly. "It _is_your office now, after all. We wouldn't want to be caught snooping."

Snape really hated how Albus Dumbledore said that.

As it turned out, there was nothing difficult in getting the drawer opened.

Only an _Alohomora_ cast by the Elder Wand.

Inside was an entire Wizard-Space filled with all sorts of broken knick-knacks that Albus had collected over time, including the Ministry's broken (and therefore written-off) Time-Turners.

Dumbledore assured them that the Ministry commissioned more Time-Turners to be made when these were rendered unusable by the accident in the Department of Mysteries. This is standard protocol for replacing the Ministry's magical artifacts. No one particularly minded when Dumbledore voiced the desire to collect their broken remains in the Ministry for Magic – it's not like they were usable anymore.

A single _Reparo_ and all the time-turners looked like they have never been broken, lying in the desk drawer as though awaiting their eventual use.

Potter reached out a hand for one, but Snape caught his wrist.

"This is an even worse idea than the Inferius-wife, Potter," he warned. "You could change some aspect of time that ends up changing everything for the worst."

Dumbledore caught Snape's attention.

"Take the Time-Turner, Harry," he said calmly, before turning to the current Headmaster. "Harry won't change anything that should not be changed, Severus," he reassured the man, his eyes meeting Snape's steadily, untwinkling.

Albus looked like a man who knew exactly what it was like to regret something his entire life and yet be able to do nothing about it….

"What makes you so sure?"

"Because _we_ will be with him," he declared, looking intently at Snape.

"I won't let you do this, Albus," Snape warned.

Harry and Dumbledore exchanged a look.

"Do you have so few regrets, Severus?" Albus Dumbledore asked.

The regrets he had could fill Wizard-Space a hundred times over. That didn't mean he was going to do something stupid like act on them.

But Dumbledore _and_ Potter twinkled, and Snape realised that idiocy was contagious.

"Just what are you two thinking of doing with a time-turner?" he asked warily.

"We are going to save Ginny."

Snape sighed.

This was a really bad idea.

**12. Time Travel.**

As it turned out, Potter's 'save Ginny' plan included nothing short of meeting the Dark Lord again.

Which Dumbledore was quick to assure Snape was completely safe.

Just as soon as the two of them were able to pry Snape out of his seat.

_Because he was __**not**__ going!_

There was nothing either of them could say on the matter.

"It won't be so bad, Severus…" Harry tried. "It'll be completely different. Sure, you'll see Vol–…"

Snape cut him off. "I've seen _him_ enough to last me a lifetime." _And much more than just seen. If he never laid eyes on the Dark Lord everagain, it would be too soon…_

"Severus… Severus, please…" Dumbledore begged.

"It won't work this time, Albus," he growled, regretting that there even _was_ a time that it worked.

He felt Potter's hands slip off of him. "Perhaps we shouldn't…" he asked Dumbledore. "No sense forcing him…."

It was some sort of cosmic irony that _Potter_ of all people, was taking his side.

Still. He was not above being grateful.

Trying to look more authoritative, Snape sat up straighter in the Headmaster's chair.

"And while you two are off gallivanting in time, _someone_ has to stay here and make sure you don't change anything for the worst and have no present to return to." He attempted to look like he would be just the person for such a feat, even though what he really wanted was to just _not_ go with them. _He_ didn't have Potter's death-defying title, after all….

Harry turned to the late Headmaster and placed his resized portrait into a transparent outer robes pocket on his robes, before turning to Snape, Elder Wand in hand.

"Wish us luck, professor," Harry smiled at Snape.

It was the first happy smile Snape had seen on the boy since the funeral. Snape felt something grow heavy inside his chest. Didn't Potter care how dangerous this was? What if he never saw the foolish boy again? The realization was painful. For Potter to do this, luck would be the least of his concerns. Especially where the Dark Lord was involved. Even such as he was.

"Come back safely," he said gruffly, emphasis on the return more than anything. "I mean it, Potter. Or whatever torture I inflicted upon you to this day will be the least of your concerns."

Dumbledore twinkled from inside Harry's robes pocket, looking knowing.

Blue eyes met black.

_Or you can tell him why you want him back so fervently, Severus…._

But the current Headmaster just shook his head, laying a protective hand on his belly underneath his robes.

_If you bring him back safely, Albus, I'll name this child after you._

But they were already out the door.

Harry and Dumbledore appeared at the place the orphanage stood, now recognizable only by the indentation it left in the ground, the building itself long since torn down.

Harry did his best to position himself where the main entrance would most likely be, Disillusioning himself and Dumbledore with a flick of the Elder Wand.

_It almost feels like I am winding a watch,_ Harry thinks as he twirls the Time-Turner the necessary number of turns to go back to the beginning of last century.

The first thing Harry saw was a bundle of robes lying at the orphanage's entrance.

This turned out to be an extremely emaciated shadow placing a baby on the front steps and stepping away, stumbling into the darkness.

"Merope Gaunt," came Dumbledore's voice from the pocket of Harry's robes.

"Will she be–" he tried again. "What will happ–" He couldn't say it.

"If I recall, this is one of her last days," Dumbledore answered slowly. "Perhaps the very last," he offered, after closer scrutiny.

"Can we… do something?" _Save her?_ He did not say.

Albus Dumbledore understood.

"She is doing this to herself, Harry," Dumbledore said quietly. "Not even her child was enough for her to stay alive."

"It just seems–" Harry tried again. "She should have done better. This feels like defeat."

"Yes, and the worst kind of defeat too, my boy," Dumbledore agreed with Harry. "It seems that Merope stopped living the day her husband left her."

Harry had a hard time picturing it. His mother would not be parted with him for anything, until her last. Why was Merope so different? Or perhaps it was Tom who was different, the boy whose mother did not want him?

He came over to the steps, looking in on the child.

Tom was sleeping.

Did he realize that his mother would rather die that live for him?

He was trailing a finger along the boy's cheek before he even realized what he was doing.

_This boy will never know his mother just because she did not wish…?_

No, he didn't understand it.

"Harry, did you forget who this boy is?" Dumbledore asked, inquiringly.

"No, of course not," Harry quickly answered. Too quickly.

"Good. Because for a moment, I thought I saw you feeling sorry for Lord Voldemort."

"I'll never feel sorry for _him_," Harry answered, voice hard. "He killed my parents."

"And yet you are able to differentiate this boy from him?" Dumbledore asked pointedly.

"I…." Harry knelt and picked Tom up, turning to look in the direction his mother had gone. "Will she be–?" _alright?_

"No." Dumbledore answered with certainty. Then he looked at Harry holding the boy and added, "but perhaps her son will be." There was a note of surprise in the way he spoke, his eyes looking between Harry and the little boy.

Harry wrapped Tom in the free end of his robes, careful not to disturb him.

"Let's go home, Albus," Harry descended the stone steps, fishing in his robes for the Time-Turner.

Dumbledore did not respond.

"Professor?" Harry tried again.

No response came. Now Harry was worried, as he reached into his robes pocket and took out the re-sized portrait.

No Dumbledore.

The portrait was black.

**13. Searching for Albus Dumbledore**

Harry had no idea how he came up with the right number of turns necessary to return to the present, especially with trembling fingers, but somehow he found himself back in the twenty-first century, clutching a sleeping child in his arms, thoughts only on Albus Dumbledore, his wand in his strong hand.

He dimly thought that it was important that he were holding his phoenix core wand, though why that should be strange, he did not know.

Trying to remember what he was doing, had given him only two names: himself and Albus Dumbledore, and the necessity of taking care of an unwanted, orphaned child.

Harry came out of his thoughts to realize that he was scrutinizing the…boy. Definitely a boy. There was an inordinate amount of sadness about him, but he could not remember anything more.

_James._ James Sirius Harold Potter.

That's what the boy's name must be. He had thought of it first thing while looking at the child, so this must be it.

_James._ Just like dad. Harry smiled. He would be pleased, Harry thought, though Severus? Not so much. They'd probably row about it.

Professor Dumbledore.

He suddenly wanted nothing more than to find him.

And just like that, he knew where to look.

In the middle of the school year, there was really only one place to find the Headmaster.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

With a stop in the kitchens, first.

It was a long time since James had last eaten, and Harry, being fairly confident that he would find the Headmaster in his office (but sending his Patronus to him anyway, informing him of his coming visit) went about to feed James.

The Hogwarts house elves were more than happy to help out, and very soon Harry was on his way up to see Headmaster Dumbledore, a happy(er) James in his arms, and only a vague _something_ reminding him that he remembered being happier coming to the kitchens, that there was a glowing, floppy-eared house-elf there, waiting just for him, _Harry Potter._

Though why he would be made special like that, he could not remember….

The strange vision dissipated when Harry came upon the gargoyle, which slid over obediently, revealing the way to Dumbledore's office as Harry made his way up.

Only when the Headmaster's door opened, and Dumbledore happily exclaimed, "Harry!" standing up from his desk and coming over to greet Harry, his long robes billowing out all around him, bright red and adorned with blue crescent moons, extending his right hand to Harry.

Harry ran into his arms, forgetting all sense of propriety, to embrace his oldest friend and mentor, nearly squishing James in the process.

"Harry, what–" was all he was able to get out, because there was suddenly no distance between them, and Harry was openly crying into the Headmaster's robes, holding onto his son and crying at the wonderful fact that Dumbledore was not… was not…!

Dumbledore wordlessly collected Harry into his arms and held him.

_Together at last,_ Harry realized happily, and it seemed like a much longer time since he had last seen the Headmaster alive and well….

When they pulled apart, Harry looked at his Headmaster, embarrassed.

"Sor–" he near apologized, but Dumbledore preempted him.

"I quite understand, Harry," he told Harry solemnly, something glimmering in his bright blue eyes. "I wanted to see you, as well."

James, meanwhile, was sitting in front of the Headmaster's hearth, playing by first reaching for Fawkes who would fly towards him, making him giggle, but then would take off higher, just out of reach of the small boy's grasp, leading to the small boy to try to raise up in order to catch the beautiful, brightly-plumaged _'bird.'_

Harry wondered if Dumbledore was saying the same thing he was. But that would have been impossible… From his own point of view, Harry felt as though he had somehow _let the Headmaster go,_ and it ended up meaning _forever._ Surely the Headmaster had not felt like _that._

Harry hadn't, after all, disappeared right in front of _his_ eyes….

Tea appeared on the table, and Harry sat down appreciatively across from his Headmaster.

It had seemed like an age since he had had tea with the older wizard.

Dumbledore looked up from his tea and smiled. "I trust your trip went well, Harry?" He looked over to where James was playing in front of the floo.

Harry nodded. "Severus would be pleased." His hand caught the light, and his bonding ring glittered in the firelight. "He wants a large family."

At the mention of _family,_ Dumbledore's bright blue eyes glimmered sadly.

"Are you alright, sir?"

"Yes." He answered, quieter. "Just thinking. Today is Ariana's birthday." He drank from his tea cup, a faraway look in his eyes. "Or it would have been…." His eyes turned downwards.

"It doesn't matter." He attempted a smile, but it was full of regret, more than anything and Harry's heart clenched in sympathy for the older wizard.

"Have you tried to go back to… save her, sir?"

The Headmaster shook his head. "I've tried. But always….she gets in between me and Gellert," he spoke so softly, as though even saying the words would bring about the event about which he was speaking.

"No. I meant…" Harry shook his head. "What about an earlier time?" Dumbledore just looked at him. "When she is just a child?" Harry offered. "Maybe save her from those awful muggle boys?" he asked.

Dumbledore appeared to be considering the suggestion. "Do you think we could?"

"It's worth trying." Harry shrugged, honest, when the Headmaster did not make a move to disagree. "If it were to work, Ariana would be in Hogwarts and well away from where she…" Harry trailed off, not wishing to say _would have died._

"It just might work," the Headmaster finally said, after taking a steadying swallow of his tea. Their eyes met.

Harry saw earnestness in those blue eyes, and a true desire to avoid the suffering that had haunted him, a sincere, fervent hope.

"Would you accompany me?" he asked softly, and Harry's heart broke when he realized that Dumbledore was begging.

Instead of responding, Harry took the Time-Turner from around his neck and placed it in front of Dumbledore, who looked up. Harry nodded his acquiescence, briefly laying his hand down on top of the Headmaster's, the simple gesture speaking more than Harry's words alone would ever have said.

"Would you keep it, professor?" he asked, sitting back down across from Dumbledore. "You would know the better instance for us to return to."

Dumbledore smiled deprecatingly, nodding grimly, but all he said was, "I trust you still have your cloak?"

"Yes." Harry readily answered, and went to pick up James from where he was playing.

He briefly contemplated leaving James with Severus, but he decided against it when James scrunched up his lower lip.

"He looks like he is coming with us, Harry," Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled knowingly.

"It sure does," Harry sighed.

The older wizard picked up the Time-Turner lying on his desk and put it around his neck, hiding it underneath his over robes.

As they made their way to the Hogwarts gates, something strange crossed his mind.

_Ginny is alive._

A happy realization. Though why she would not be escaped him entirely.

**14. Ariana Dumbledore.**

Apparating to the Headmaster's home had left them standing in a groomed orchard, fenced and separated from the neighbours.

But it hadn't always been.

"Sometimes I think that if we had only gotten around to doing this sooner, it would have changed much more," he confided.

"Professor…."

Dumbledore forcefully brightened. "We will need to be invisible. I would hate for my mother to see me like this," he tried to joke. Harry grinned, agreeing. That would _definitely_ be a shock. Old as he was, he was most definitely older than Kendra Dumbledore.

James was standing beside Harry, Invisibility Cloak around his shoulders. Of the three of them, he was the only one who could be completely invisible with the speed of a thought, the cloak around him in loose waves of sheer material. He was looking up at Harry.

Dumbledore cast a Notice-Me-Not spell over the three of them, before taking the Time-Turner out of his robes and twirling it. Harry saw their surroundings swirl into a mist around them, disappearing, and instinctively held James tighter.

No need. The boy's eyes widened and he burrowed himself somewhere into Harry's knees in fright.

They re-appeared in the same orchard on a brisk spring day, and saw a small light-haired girl, no more than six, playing out in the yard.

An unfenced yard.

He looked to his right, at the Headmaster, who couldn't take his eyes off of the girl.

"Ariana," he whispered, a strangely choked expression on his face.

James made a sound at that moment, a happy sound, and drew Harry's attention back to the girl.

Who was floating her toys in front of herself. As she reached a tiny hand for one, the toy obligingly lowered itself into her grasp, making her giggle happily and reach for another. The first toy floated a bit higher once more, the second lowered itself into her hands. This seemed to go on indefinitely. It must have been her first time doing magic….

"I never knew," Dumbledore whispered, from beside Harry. "I have never seen her cast magic before–" _the accident. But by then everything she did was explosive, dangerous, or uncontrolled._. He did not say this last part out loud, instead focusing on the happier sight of his sister practising magic for the first time.

"She is very good," Dumbledore praised. "At her age, I could only focus on one toy at a time…."

He lowered himself to sit on the grass, a few steps away from his younger sister, staring at Ariana Dumbledore in wonder.

Harry sat beside him, James in his lap, laughing a bit as James caught Harry's nose in his hand. To make him let go, Harry tickled James lightly until James lost his grip on it in a fit of giggles.

Ariana did not hear them, appearing completely engrossed in her game, though most likely it had been Dumbledore's Notice-Me-Not charm.

Harry glanced at Dumbledore and was amazed.

He had never seen the older wizard look as _happy_ as he did in this moment, happier even than Ariana, using her magic for the first time.

They sat like that a long time (Dumbledore had not known exactly what had happened, and when, so they needed to wait around and observe more than anything else).

Eventually, James had gotten bored and started running circles around Harry, the invisibility cloak billowing about his shoulders and making him look oddly like Superman. Harry laughed at the image and ran after him, pretending to catch him but only succeeding in sending the boy into laughter once more as he ran away, only to be near-caught by Harry again.

James stopped suddenly and stared at something, causing Harry to catch him easily and place him back on his lap. Then he looked in the direction that caught James's attention.

To see three boys climbing down from a large oak tree and as one, turn to look towards Ariana as one boy pointed.

"Them," Dumbledore said, frowning. "They always caused trouble at the play ground. I should've known…."

He wondered what it was that was so elusive that even Dumbledore did not catch its importance, the first time around.

Harry also wondered where Kendra Dumbledore was and why she wasn't running to her daughter. Surely the boys' presence set off her Monitoring charms. Only the three of them were undetectable, compliments of the Elder Wand.

But nobody was coming.

This…. This wasn't good.

_At this rate, what will happen to her?_ Harry instinctively clutched James tighter, glancing over at Ariana.

Tears fell down Ariana's cheeks.

Now Harry wondered just where Dumbledore's mother was. _Someone_ was supposed to have been watching Ariana, after all.

So why wasn't anyone coming?

"Sir," Harry whispered, unable to take any more of this. "Isn't there anybody–?"

But Dumbledore only shook his head, not looking at Harry. It almost seemed as though he were ashamed….

James started to cry, reaching his arms out towards Ariana. It was heartbreaking to watch; Harry's eyes filled with tears and he glanced at the Headmaster, determined that they do something, since it looked like nobody was coming to save the helpless little girl. But apparently, James' cries had done what Harry could not, because it was this mournful sound that finally brought Dumbledore out of his stupour.

Dumbledore wordlessly Immobilised the three boys. All colour seemed to have left his face.

Ariana looked up, trying to find who her saviours were, but their Notice-Me-Not charm meant that she ended up looking around, confused. She hiccoughed.

The older wizard looked regretful as he caught sight of his younger sister.

"I've heard about that," Dumbledore looked over at James as he dismantled their privacy charm. In that moment, Ariana caught sight of them, staring through tear-filled eyes as Harry, Dumbledore, and little James came nearer.

"Children become so overwrought that they weep in sympathy, even when they are not the ones in pain, feeling the plight of others," Dumbledore said softly, with undisguised awe, as he looked over at the small boy in Harry's arms. Then he reached a hand over and stroked James' cheek. "Thank you, James."

Then he seemed to gather himself. Cast _Sonorus._

With the Elder Wand. Harry wondered if Dumbledore wanted his voice to reach China. And, more importantly: _Why?_

But the Headmaster only turned back towards the house that Harry assumed belonged to the Dumbledore's.

"**ALBUS!**" he roared with such force that the house shook. Ariana was so surprised she stopped crying and openly stared at the three of them. "**COME OUT HERE RIGHT THIS INSTANT!**" his voice boomed.

Really, it was a miracle that none of them had gone deaf from the experience.

Harry saw Ariana flinch, eyes wide, and lowered himself on one knee before the six-year-old so they were eye-to-eye.

"Don't be frightened," he said even as James burrowed himself in Harry's robes and sniffled. "We'll sort this out." He glanced at Dumbledore, who appeared to be giving his home a death glare now. "Somehow."

Dumbledore knelt down and drew his sister into his arms, hugging her tight, eyes on the house, undoing the Sonorus spell. I am sorry for that," he told her apologetically. "But your brother is notoriously hard-of-hearing." His finger trailed her cheek, wiping at a stray tear.

Soon a boy was running towards them, robes flung on haphazardly as they flew about him.

He saw that the young boy wore glasses and his auburn hair was standing on end. His eyes widened as he caught sight of the four of them. The boy couldn't have been more than nine. He stopped when he reached them, paling further when he saw Dumbledore's face.

_He must have flung his over robes on in record time._ Harry thought. _It wasn't_ that_ much of a surprise,_ Harry thought. _But if it was, why was Dumbledore calling for _him?

The Headmaster looked unforgiveably frightening.

"Who're–" but young Albus did not finish. His question was ignored as the older Dumbledore opened his mouth.

"I just witnessed the most extraordinary scene, _Albus_" Dumbledore began, voice deceptively soft, as though holding his fury in check. "As I came upon your sister, _completely alone,_ playing outside." He frowned unpleasantly, his cold eyes staring mercilessly into the young boy who, Harry guessed, must be the young Albus Dumbledore. "Do you have any idea what your sister was doing, _unsupervised_, outside of the house?"

"I–" young Albus tried again.

Older Dumbledore came closer to him.

"Let us try again," he said softly. "Whose _responsibility_ was it to watch her, Albus Percival Wolfric Brian Dumbledore?"

Harry's eyes widened. _That_ certainly answered one of his questions.

The boy gaped at his older self, eyes impossibly wide. How in Merlin's name did this old wizard (for young Albus figured out that the older man must have been a wizard by this time, just not who he was) know his full name? And why did he look like he was about to hex him?

"Answer me."

"Mine," young Albus said softly.

"Funny," Dumbledore said in a voice that was anything but. "I didn't see you supervising Ariana." He turned to Harry. "Did you, Harry?"

Harry shook his head. Dumbledore turned his gaze back on young Albus. He felt inexplicably sorry for the boy, who was clearly nervous at this unexpected interrogation. "Sir, perhaps we–" he attempted to defend young Albus, but Dumbledore held up a hand to stop him.

"So tell me, Albus. Tell me." He reached out his hand and bunched it in the front of the boy's robes, shaking him until young Albus' glasses slipped down his nose. "TELL ME WHAT WAS MORE IMPORTANT THAN YOUR SISTER'S LIFE!"

The boy gasped. "I didn't. I–"

You disgust me." Dumbledore suddenly whirled them around, to face the immobilised boys, lying on the grass.

"Have you any idea what they just tried to do to your sister? What they _would have_ done, just because you were not here to watch over her?"

Young Albus just stared at the older wizard. "What?" he asked.

"The greatest regret of your life, boy, that's what!" Dumbledore told him, voice oddly resigned, releasing young Albus' robes front. "You nearly lost your sister. And you didn't even know enough to care that you had one."

He stepped away. The young boy stumbled a step, before righting himself, looking up at Dumbledore. His eyes were glassy and glimmering with tears. "No," he whispered, a blink away from crying. "I….didn't…."

"You still don't understand, do you?" Dumbledore said, and he sounded sad now, more than anything else.

"N-no. I understand." Young Albus said bravely, his voice an odd tint, as though he was trying not to cry. "I am sorry." He looked at his sister. "Sorry, Ariana…."

"You're sorry?" Dumbledore said oddly, looking at his young self. "A one-year-old has more sense than you, do you know that?" Young Albus looked at James, at that.

"So tell me," Dumbledore continued." What would you be willing to do to make up for this?"

"Do?" the young boy asked, looking at Dumbledore. Then stepped forward. "Anything."

"Then learn to cast a Monitoring charm if you leave Ariana unattended. Because the next time you forget about her would be her last." He stared evenly at the boy, a strange look in his blue eyes. "She is a _nuisance,_ isn't she Albus?" he asked, an odd tint to his question.

Young Albus flinched. "H-how? How do you kn–"

"It's enough that I know," Dumbledore told him grimly.

"I–" Albus tried. "I'm not old enough to cast a Monitoring charm."

Dumbledore's blue eyes flashed in fury. "And you are old enough to be negligent?"

The boy gasped. "N-no."

"Good. At least you know that much." Young Albus looked strangely at Dumbledore at that, but said nothing.

"And you don't need to be 'old enough.' Any magic you cast will be attributed to mother and father." Albus looked strangely at Dumbledore at this strange referral.

"You're perfectly safe to cast any spell you wish," Dumbledore spoke. "Any spell, that is, that does not land your parents in Azkaban." He looked meaningfully at his young self.

"Azkaban," the boy answered, sounding as though he were afraid of the mere word of it. "I…I understand," he whispered.

"Then act like it." Dumbledore brushed his lips against Ariana's head. "Thank you," he said it so quietly, that Harry was sure that he misheard.

Because the next moment, he was placing Ariana into his young self's hands.

"Take her up to the house," he told Albus severely. "I don't ever want to lay eyes on you again."

Harry watched Dumbledore's young self disappear into the house.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and when Harry looked at him, he realized that tears were shining in Dumbledore's eyes.

"Professor?" Harry tried. Dumbledore looked at him. "What do we do…" he looked over, "about _them_?"

The older wizard seemed to gather himself.

"To be honest, I could kill them," he answered honestly. "And save my father the life sentence in Azkaban."

"But we need you at Hogwarts, sir," he said earnestly. "Them… not so much." That forced a weak smile from Dumbledore.

Dumbledore turned to the boy in Harry's arms. "What should we do with them, James?" he asked seriously.

James glowered at the three boys.

"I couldn't agree more," Dumbledore nodded, concurring with James' sentiment.

From inside the house, a nine-year-old boy and a six-year-old girl were looking out the window at the three strangers standing just outside.

Young Albus saw a flash of magic envelop the three boys, then a longer flash of magic, and then still another flash, before three tiny shapes disappeared from sight entirely.

A moment later the three strangers, enveloped in golden magic, disappeared as well.

He turned to his sister.

"Ariana?"

"Big brother?" she looked expectantly at him.

"You are not to go outside _alone_," he told her sternly and levitated her toys from where they had last been at the front of the house into the house. "Ever."

The toys dropped into Ariana's arms.

"Take them upstairs. And don't you dare set foot outside your room!" he warned.

When Ariana was safely upstairs, young Albus sighed.

He wondered which of his parents' books contained Monitoring charms.

**15. Back In the Future.**

The much older Albus Dumbledore re-appeared a hundred something years later in front of the Dumbledores' residence.

The Headmaster smiled happily and his eyes shone as he looked at Harry.

"I trust that I will see you and Severus at the party?"

Harry nodded. "Of course." He wouldn't miss Ariana's 150th birthday for anything in the world.

"I will see you soon, then" Dumbledore twinkled and a moment later, Disapparated, followed closely by a similar pop of Disapparition as Harry went home as well.

**16. Home.**

By the time Harry had made it up the walk, James was fast asleep in his arms. It was no wonder. They did have quite an adventure.

He didn't need to knock. Severus knew of Harry's appearance as soon as Harry Apparated on the premises. _Welcome Home Wards._

"Harry!" he breathed, opening the door, his whole countenance showing happiness.

Having just gotten the same sort of look from Dumbledore, Harry wondered what was going on in his own home to warrant such a look.

As Harry entered, Severus seemed to have caught sight of James for the first time.

"And who is this?" he inquired, eyeing the sleeping child.

"James," Harry said quietly, so as not to wake the boy. I've been at the orphanage earlier today. His mum died, and he needs a home." He looked imploringly at his husband.

"Home?" Severus echoed. "Well, we certainly do seem to be heading towards becoming one of _those._" He was glowing, and Harry got the distinct feeling that Severus had news of his own to tell him.

"I am pregnant," he said. "I am pregnant, Harry," he repeated, his whole demeanor radiating happiness. "It worked."

Harry leaned forward and kissed his husband over the sleeping James.

"Happy Birthday, Great Aunt Ariana," Harry laughed softly. "A birthday, a new home, and a new child all in one day." He looked at Severus. "Wouldn't you say that birthdays are magical, husband of mine?"

Severus returned Harry's kiss. "Yes. Yes they are. And I would say," he looked over at the mantelpiece, "that you have just enough time to put_James_ down for the rest of his nap before we Apparate there."

His lips were nearly on top of Harry's.

"Have we time for anything _more_?" he asked, huskily.

Severus got the hint. "Perhaps."

They went upstairs, Harry cradling James in his arms, placing James in the spare bedroom across from their own.

"Lucius is running for Minister for Magic," Severus told him conversationally as he closed their bedroom door behind them.

Harry groaned and his husband caught the look and smirked.

"I thought so too," he kissed Harry, reaching underneath his robes and pushing them off him as he spoke.

"And he's…" Harry groaned and kissed behind Severus' ear, making his husband shiver. "He's going to win, this time around," pulling Severus' robes open. "No one in their right mind would throw their lot in with Fudge," he whispered against Severus' chest as he teased a nipple.

Severus growled.

"Perhaps you really _should_ run for Minister for Magic," Severus told him, furiously ripping Harry's under shirt open and pulling him to bed. "I have no intention of seeing Lucius as Minister." His groin brushed Harry's. "Enough politics. Fuck _me_," he commanded.

Harry pushed Severus' robes off and covered his husband's body with his own.

Severus obligingly spread his legs, and, a kiss and a spell later, Harry truly _was_ home.

**Epilogue.**

Harry Flooed back into his home to the sound of his husband's discontent.

"But father–" he heard James complaining.

"You just wait until you dad hears about this," Severus threatened and a moment later appeared in the doorway of the sitting room. He caught sight of Harry.

"James," he turned, yelling ominously into the corridor. "Come here this instant."

Severus was in their sitting room, a red-faced Albus Severus on his hip. James slunk into the room behind his father, the picture of inordinate troubles heaped upon his young shoulders, unchastened.

"Your son will be the death of me, Harry," he groaned. Harry recognized that look. It was the look of a man who had had to deal with James Sirius Harold Potter one time too many during the day.

"He's as much mine as he is yours, Severus," Harry reminded his husband, not letting the smile he felt from manifesting on his face. It wouldn't do at all, not when, he was fairly certain, James was in for chastising. They always showed a united front where their children's discipline was concerned.

_Their_ children. After all this time, warmth still filled Harry at the sentiment. _His_ Severus. _Their_ family…

"Oh no, Harry," Severus said softly, bringing Harry back to the present. "In times like these, he's _your_ son." He narrowed his eyes at James, who recoiled, realising that he was still in trouble.

"James," Harry called meaningfully, who took an almost involuntary step forward at the sound of Harry's voice. "Why is your father displeased with you?" He caught Snape's eye and his husband nodded. Displeased it is, then. Harry had read Severus well. United front.

James did not look at Harry. "It's not fair," he complained.

"What isn't, exactly?"

"I've told _him_ many times." James' head motioned towards his brother, who was on Snape's hip. "He can play with all my _other_ toys," James said defensively, looking pleadingly up at Harry when Severus only frowned further at his older son's words.

James' hands clenched, and Harry now noticed that James was holding his Hungarian Horntail possessively, looking at Harry out of distraught hazel eyes. James was inexplicably fond of this one toy. _The one I gave him,_ Harry realised. Only Harry had meant more to James than his dragon toy. Whatever occurred, Harry realised, must have infringed on James' feelings for Harry mixing with possessiveness for the toy. Still, James needs to know that a toy is just a toy, but family was **family.**

"He's not going to break it, James," Harry attempted to reason with his oldest child. It wasn't the first time he was saying this.

"I know that," James answered. "It's just…" he trailed off, as the Floo rumbled behind Harry and moments later a small girl came out, standing beside Harry. Severus seemed unsurprised at the visitor's identity, but was clearly not expecting any newcomers tonight.

"Lily!" James exclaimed, distracted now, and his eyes lit up. "Why're you here?" his gaze shifted from the five-year-old girl to his dad, eyes going wide in surprise. Lily was now dusting off her robes.

"Lily is staying with us while her mum's out of town," Harry explained. "I assumed it would be alright if we just Flooed over," he looked at Severus apologetically. "Lavender's on assignment," he said by way of explanation. "I trust we'll be alright with one more?"

Severus nodded. That answered it. Harry didn't even need to ask James to know _his_ response.

James loved it when Lavender Brown's daughter Flooed over and stayed with them. If he had it his way, Harry guessed that he'd never let her leave. If James were a teenager, Harry would have been certain that James had a crush….

"Hi James," Lily called vibrantly. "May I go on up with him, Uncle Harry?" she asked politely.

"That depends on James," Harry said seriously, looking at his son expectantly.

"James, what did you do now?" Lily narrowed her eyes at her friend, putting her hands on her hips.

James understood. His friend's presence would not get him off the hook.

Severus looked between Lily and James, the corner of his mouth lifting so subtly only Harry had any chance of noticing it. Severus had once told him that this Lily treated James much as Harry's mother treated James Potter. Hands on her hips and demanding an explanation…

James didn't stand a chance.

"I am sorry," he apologized and actually looked like he meant the words he spoke.

Severus shook his head, casting a glance at Albus. James realised.

"I am sorry, Al," he repeated. "Here," he told his brother, handing over his favourite dragon toy to him. "Take good care of him or I'll never let you be Dragon-Keeper again," he said seriously.

Albus took the Hungarian Horntail from James. Without letting go of his father's neck. Not crying, but quite clearly not ready yet to forgive his brother.

Then, as though driven by some unseen impulse, James put his arms around Albus and hugged his younger brother. Al looked surprised at that, green eyes staring at his big brother, before two tiny hands stole out and hugged James around the neck, a shy smile on his face. Harry shared a look with Severus. Albus Severus loved his brother and he was so forgiving that it made Harry marvel why Severus was so certain their youngest will be a Slytherin. It seemed perfectly clear to Harry that Al was incredibly brave, kind, understanding – more Gryffindor traits than Slytherin ones.

"Thanks, Al," James whispered, touched, before they both let go and James looked up at his father. Severus was not looking anywhere near as stern as he was a moment ago.

"Can we play upstairs?" James asked Severus seriously, looking side a ways at Lily.

"Go on," his father nodded, stepping away and letting James and Lily go on up the stairs.

When they were left alone, Harry found himself in the kitchen. Severus joined him as he put the kettle on, and, strangely enough, Albus Severus as well, holding onto the Hungarian Horntail.

He was a quiet boy, much quieter than James had been, and Harry wondered how he had the patience to just sit by, while Harry and Severus talked about their day. James would have turned to running around the kitchen, knocking aside anything he could reach and stepping on Severus' last nerve until he was Banished from the kitchen. But not Al, who seemed content to spend quiet time with his parents, doing perfectly well without the rowdy activities children his age indulged in. Severus was even able to brew potions while Albus was around, whereas it would have taken everything just to keep James from demolishing Severus' potions stores if the older boy was _stuck_ in his father's laboratory for the day.

Al looked up at his father inquiringly, holding out his cup to him. It was Al's way of asking if he could have tea, as well. A true Englishman, the boy was. He could miss mealtime, but tea was a sacred ritual. Al was his father's son in many ways also, Harry realised. He was still more Gryffindor than Slytherin, though, and Harry hoped that when Sorting time came, Severus would not be disappointed if Al ended up a lion instead of a snake.

Severus poured tea for each of them. Harry smiled as Al took his tea the same way as his father, except with five helpings of sugar.

Harry smiled.

Severus glanced over at Al and smirked.

"Just like Albus," Severus said quietly, meeting Harry's gaze, eyes on the sugar spoonfuls his son was adding to his tea.

Harry smiled. "Would you have him billowing about the house in black robes, sneering at _my_ feeble attempts to skin flobberworms?"

Severus frowned.

Harry leaned over the table and covered Severus' lips with his own.

"You _are_ surprisingly bad at it, Harry," Severus said softly when they pulled apart. "It's as though you've never had to work at potions-making a day in your life."

"That's because I have my husband to make all the potions I ever need for me."

Another kiss.

Al squealed happily. For some reason he seemed to enjoy seeing how much his parents loved one another. James, on the other hand, turned away in disgust and a long drawn-out EWWWW should he ever be the unwilling witness to his parents' love.

But even James would look at Harry and Severus expectantly when they _failed to meet their daily quota of EWWWW_, as Severus laughingly called it.

So even James did not mind all that much, it seems.

Harry liked kissing Severus even after all this time. He never got tired of the feel of his husband's lips underneath his own, thin but soft, pliant and responsive as Severus returned Harry's affections.

Harry belatedly realised that he must have tasted of tea and sugar to his husband, but Severus did not seem put out by that in the slightest. Perhaps _Albus_ Severus was not the only one with a liking for sweet things. Though Harry was certain _Severus_ would never admit it….

"Everything's better with sugar," he said instead, against Severus' lips, making Severus groan.

But he must have agreed because he did not stop kissing Harry.


End file.
